The Magician and the Healer
by The Tiny Dangerous One
Summary: Loki and Eira have spent way too much time reading, and now it's time to go home. Just a little Christmas story that's also a preview of an upcoming fic. Loki/oc, one-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**My first Christmas story in a long time. Consider it a bit of a preview for a story that I'm working on.**

**The inspiration for this story comes from the song "Baby It's Cold Outside" by Frank Loesser, and a bit from a drawing I saw on deviantArt. It's titled "Sigyn and Loki" by Savu0211. When I saw that picture, I thought it was so sweet. So I just kind of based this story off of the song and that picture.**

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It was winter on Asgard. Although the ground was already covered in a thick blanket of white, snow continued to fall gently. Typically, Eira wasn't too fond of snow or cold weather, but right now she didn't mind. She was sitting on a large sheepskin rug in Loki's room, next to a warm fire, with a book in her hand. Loki lay next to her with his head in her lap, one of his knees slightly bent towards the ceiling, and a book of Midgardian poems in his hand. Eira wasn't really sure how long she had been there. Time always seemed to slip by unnoticed when they were together. When she came to the end of a chapter, she set her book aside and stretched, glancing toward the window.

"Oh my Odin," she said.

"What's wrong?" Loki asked, not looking up from his book.

"It's dark outside!"

"And?"

"And I should be getting home!"

"Oh! Here's a good one," he exclaimed, ignoring the conversation. He began to recite;

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;  
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;  
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;  
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head;  
I have seen roses damask'd red and white;  
But no such roses I see in her cheeks;  
And in some perfumes is there more delight  
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.  
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know  
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;  
I grant I never saw a goddess go;  
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:  
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare  
As any she belied with false compare."

Eira looked down at her fiancé.

"Do you mean that to be me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "And don't change the subject."

"Well . . . not entirely," he replied. "What subject am I changing?"

The healer rolled her eyes. "I must go. It's gotten dark."

"It's been dark for a while, love," Loki said, turning the page.

"Why didn't you tell me? Get up, you have to walk me back."

Eira nudged his shoulder with her book. He sighed and turned down the corner of the page to mark his place. Setting the book aside, he lifted his head from her lap and propped himself up on his elbow. He met her gaze with a concerned look.

"It's far too cold for you to leave now," he said matter-of-factly.

"I have a cloak," she replied in the same tone.

"It's too dark anyway," he pressed. "That will only make the cold seem worse."

"Well, then where am I supposed to stay?"

"Here."

"Here?"

"Why not?"

He looked genuinely confused. Eira sighed and shook her head.

"People will talk, Loki," she said softly.

A mischievous look gleamed in his eyes, and she regretted what she'd said almost immediately. It could be hard to tell what words or actions -no matter how innocent- would set the gears of his mind in motion. And the god of mischief was always planning something. A mischievous smirk soon followed the glint in his eye as he sat up, turning to face her. He planted one foot on the ground and pointed one knee towards the ceiling, resting his arm on it.

"Talk about what?" he asked playfully.

"As if you don't know," she narrowed her eyes, not in the mood to play his games.

"Don't be like that, love," Loki pouted.

He reached up and rested his palm on her neck, just below her ear. Eira found it difficult to be angry with him as he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She sighed in defeat. He always knew exactly what to do to mitigate her anger.

"Where would I sleep?" she asked.

"In the bed," he replied like it was the most obvious thing in all nine realms.

"And you're sleeping on the floor?"

"No," he smirked.

"Then _I'll _sleep on the floor."

"We could both sleep on the floor. . . ."

"Seriously?"

"The rug, specifically. It's very soft."

Eira rolled her eyes.

"I can't stay here, Loki," she repeated. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers very gently.

"Please?" he asked with a face Eira was sure that, along with his silver tongue and sharp wit, would allow him to get away with murder.

"It's not proper," she explained. "People already talk enough. I don't want to give them anymore fodder for their rumours."

"Eira, it's freezing out there. You could catch a cold."

"Nice try, Odinson, but I live in the palace."

"You still have to pass though the gardens to get to the healers' quarters."

Eira gave him a look. "It's not like I'm trudging across the city."

Loki's hand moved from her cheek to her hip as he leaned in and kissed her neck. Eira placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. He pouted, but didn't try to make another move.

"Don't try and distract me from the subject," she scolded.

"Was it working?"

Eira gave him one of her don't-push-your-luck looks. Loki sighed.

"I don't want you to go yet," he answered honestly.

"Well then, when would you like me to go?"

Loki reached out and pulled Eira close to him so she rested between his legs with her head on his chest. He kissed the to of her head.

"Never," he murmured into her hair.

"Well it's got to be before morning."

"It's too cold."

"Oh don't start that again."

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**Well, there it is. I might write a little more, but for now it's just a one-shot.**

**The poem Loki read is Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare. One of my favorites, actually.**

**One more thing: In the interest of full-disclosure, I am aware that there is a story already attached to the picture I mentioned at the beginning, written by the artist. I just want to assure you that nothing from my story is plagiarized, simply another imagining of the story that's behind the picture.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I felt like writing a part two. Of sorts.**

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Loki felt his eyes drifting shut as Eira absently ran her fingers through his hair. The god of mischief found himself in a very familiar, but not unpleasant, position. He lay on his bed, with his head in his fiance's lap. They were both reading, which was how they spent most of their time together recently. Eira shifted uncomfortably, causing Loki to glance up.

"Are your legs falling asleep, love?" he asked.

Eira shook her head. "There's just not much room for two people on this bed."

"Ah, yes. It is smaller than the other one. They seem to be trying to discourage certain activities," he said suggestively.

"I don't see why you would want to. Not with that glass wall there," she replied flatly, unfazed by his charm.

"I could easily take care of that."

"No, Loki."

"You've been awfully testy as of late. Are you sure you're not-"

Eira stood up so quickly, that he almost went tumbling off the bed. She stalked over to the chair, picked up her cloak, and started to put it on.

"Eira, love, no," Loki hurried over to her, gently taking her shoulders. "Please stay."

The healer closed her eyes and took a deep breath

"I really wish you wouldn't take it out on me," she said evenly.

"I know, I'm sorry," he replied.

Eira looked him in the eye, "Are you really?"

"Yes," he answered honestly. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her gently on the forehead. "Please don't leave yet."

"I'll stay as long as I can," she promised softly.

"You can stay all night if you want."

"I can't keep staying all night, Loki," she said gently.

"Why not?" he pouted, placing his hands on Eira's shoulders.

"People are starting to wonder where I go all the time. If there's an emergency in the middle of the night, they won't be able to find me."

Loki narrowed his eyes at her explanation, "Since when do you care so much about what other people think?"

Eira stared at the ground, ashamed. Whatever anger Loki held on the subject melted away. He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze, then pulled her into a hug. Eira wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I know it's hard," he said. "Your heart is too kind to love someone like me."

"Don't say that," she muttered into his chest. She felt his chuckle more than she heard it.

"Alright," Loki agreed, pulling away from the embrace to lead his fiancé back to the bed. "I simply meant that someone with a heart as kind as yours is not strong enough to love someone like myself."

"Your words are not helping your cause, Silver-tongue," Eira laughed. Her words made the god of mischief pause.

"Silver-tongue?" he asked.

"Well you refuse to be called Odinson, and I know that you'd never want to be called Laufeyson," she explained. "And I have to have something to call you when you're in trouble."

"So you picked Silver-tongue?"

Eira shrugged. "It was already one of your monikers."

"Well, there are several things this _'silver tongue'_ can do," Loki smirked, taking her waist and pulling her close to his body.

"You are impossible this evening," she groaned.

Loki chuckled. Teasing Eira had always been fun. She never took it too seriously and when she did get mad, she didn't stay mad for very long. But despite what she said, Eira wasn't anywhere near angry with him. So he lay back down with his head in her lap, picked up his book and continued to read.

A few minutes later, a thought occurred to him. He brought his hand down until the pages of the book rested on his chest, and looked up. Eira was engrossed in her romance novel. Loki watched her eyes move back and forth along the pages, noting that they hadn't stopped shining with that warm, inner light they always had. She still chewed her lip when she came to a particularly intense or upsetting part of the story. Loki knew it was intense because her brow furrowed ever so slightly. He watched her for several minutes, not wanting to break into her world.

"I don't think I ever told you that I found it," he said finally.

"Found what?" Eira asked, her eyes still on the book in her hand.

"Do you remember, all those years ago, we were reading by the fireplace in my chambers?" he asked. "It was winter."

Her eyes shot up from the page. She clearly remembered the night he was talking about, so he continued.

"At one point, I read to you from a book of poems and you asked if I meant it to be you."

"It was not a very flattering poem," Eira replied, carefully marking her place and setting the book on the bed. "But that's a very odd thing to remember about that night. So much more happened that night, it was hardly the most exciting thing."

"Yes, but now, after all that's happened. . . . ." Loki paused. They hardly ever spoke about the past three years. He knew those years had been hard on her. His actions had caused a rift between them that they were both carefully trying to fix.

"Yes?" she encouraged.

"Well, I've finally found a poem that truly describes all you have meant to me," he finished.

Eira nodded; a simple invitation for him to continue. Loki set his book aside and sat up. Taking her hands, he looked her in the eye and began to recite from memory:

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,  
I all alone beweep my outcast state,  
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,  
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,  
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,  
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,  
With what I most enjoy contented least;  
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,  
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,  
Like to the lark at break of day arising  
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;  
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings  
That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

"Loki. . . ." his fiance's voice was laced with both understanding and sorrow. He held up a hand before she could say any more. Gently cupping her chin, he pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.

"I missed you so much," Loki whispered as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I missed you too."

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**The poem is Sonnet 29 by William Shakespeare. Thanks for reading, and please don't forget to review!**


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